By the time I was in 4th grade, I was a mistress of reverie.  He could be anywhere, I entertained - the dirty blonde head in front of me in chorus, singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water” or the lab partner with whom I gingerly dissected a fish.  Even Bradley, the/… Read full post »

It all began when I caught my husband pruning the lilac bush with an electric saw. I protested, barely audible over the machine’s buzz, “What?” he shouted “I’m not cutting off any of the flowers!” upon which he reverted to his testosterone trance.  Eve… Read full post »

They drag on cigarettes and look blasé as they wait for the train on the platform.  One has spiked hair, the other broad shoulders.   I do not find them interesting, but they are people so I give them faintly more recognition than the concrete wall against which they lean. … Read full post »

At the pottery studio there is a lot of talk about nothing and everything.  Things just get blurted out over the wedging board amid the drama of a room filled with 10 strangers.  Some sit at the wheel, some are at the sink, rinsing tools or refilling water.  I always seem/… Read full post »

   I could always rely on Mrs. Lee’s shoes.  They sat outside her door, greeting me as I came and went.  They told a story of who was inside and what noises were to follow.  Early on in our years there, I gathered that shoes were not welcome in her apartment. I… Read full post »